by Jim Heskett
They continued walking. “Good answer. I like the way you think, Ashleigh.”
“Thank you.”
For a few moments, they walked in silence. Ronald breathed, enjoying the feeling of the sun warming his face. His hands ached from an early morning session with his grip strengthener. The plastic and metal device fit in his palm, with a separate spring-loaded button for each finger. He’d bought one at a music shop yesterday since they were intended as muscle trainers for guitarists. Ronald had never touched a guitar in his life, but he loved how it exercised the grip of each finger individually. Ten minutes on each hand depleted his stress levels much better than twisting a newspaper.
Ashleigh interrupted the silence. “Sir, what’s our timeline like?”
“I have a buyer lined up. But his offer is only good until tomorrow afternoon. If we don’t find the NSA report before then, it’s all moot.”
Ashleigh paused and held up a hand against the sun. She winced as she looked at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “What happens to Harry when this is over? Either way.”
Ronald eyed her. “You’re a little sweet on the guy, aren’t you? I didn’t expect you to be a chubby chaser.” When she frowned, he realized his mistake. “Sorry. That was inappropriate.”
“It’s okay, sir. I’ve been called a lot worse. But I would like to know the end goal with him. His presence here has brought Layne Parrish, and you think Layne can get this report for us.”
“That’s the intention.”
“It’s a nice domino, especially since we haven’t had luck on our own. But, do you think we’re going to find it? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but our track record so far with these 'shadows' hasn’t been great.”
“Layne Parrish is different. He may be upset about the deaths of his other former colleagues, but he has a special connection with Harry Boukadakis. Even though Harry is older, Layne treats him like a little brother. I have a strong feeling Layne will do whatever it takes to keep Harry safe.”
“Don’t you think he’ll consider finding and extracting Harry, instead of going after the report?”
“We’re prepared for that. Layne has a family, too. If necessary, we’ll turn up the heat on them. He won’t come after us if his daughter has a knife to her throat.”
“But, what if Layne can’t deliver, even if you make it more personal for him?”
Ronald considered this. “Then Harry will be no longer useful.”
She appeared to chew on this answer for a few seconds, and he could see the gears turning in her head. He paused and faced her. She stopped walking and gave him his full attention, eyes up toward his. Her skin seemed radiant in this light.
“I know you’re new to my employ, Ashleigh, but you’ve already demonstrated you’re quite valuable. I don’t hold your youth against you. Cornelius has ten years on you, but he doesn’t have half of your drive and ambition. Don’t tell him I said that.”
She grinned. “Of course, sir.”
“Harry is a lab rat. Scientists learned not to name their lab rats because it makes it harder to force them to run the maze. Do you understand?”
“Sir. You can count on me. I’m invested in this, and I’m going to see it through to the end.”
He resumed walking. “Excellent. Maybe we’ll find a way to turn this mess upside down, and we’ll all get rich. I can’t say how many lab rats we have to run to death in the process, but, in the end, it’ll all be worth it. Trust me.”
INTERLUDE #3
Littlefield, TX | Eight years ago
Layne keeps his distance but still maintains visual contact. Their man is meandering north along Phelps, walking toward Water Tower, a bar one block up. Still talking on the phone. Behind him, Juliana trails by fifty feet.
Layne doesn’t need to turn around to note Jules’ distance. He can feel it. She’s one of the most professional shadows he’s ever worked with, despite the unpredictable turns like stealing airplane liquor bottles. She knows how to stay hidden and when to be quiet. It’s a relief to work with someone he doesn’t feel like he has to monitor.
He’s staying close to the buildings. In a small town, at this hour, if their target turns around, that’s no good. It’s not as if they can blend into a crowd. So, Layne hugs the buildings, ready to spin and sprint in the other direction if the Latino man ahead deviates from his path.
“Looks like he’s headed exactly where you said,” Layne says into the Bluetooth in his ear.
“Copy,” Juliana says. “I’m going to cut right to the backs of these buildings and push ahead. I’ll scout out Water Tower for entrances and exits.”
“Roger that,” he says as the target crosses the street to head toward the bar. Layne slips underneath the awning of a dentist’s office. Crossing the street would be a good time for their target to turn and check behind him, but the guy doesn’t.
“How do you want to play this?” she asks. “I’m getting closer. He could spot me.”
“Let’s try not to light up the place. First priority is to see if he makes contact with Vixen. If he doesn’t, let’s grab him and ask him a few questions. Zero triggers pulled is our goal. Agreed?”
“That works for me.”
In a town like this, they only get one shot at blending in. Once that’s blown, it’s gone forever. There are far too many paths for Vixen to slip away with the stolen NSA pages, unnoticed. They don’t even know for sure if this man can lead them to her. It’s just a hunch.
Layne waits another moment for the man to enter the bar, then he watches Juliana slip into the alley behind it. Everything goes quiet. The sounds of infrequent cars from the highway drift by, but it’s not a distraction.
“Back door, side door,” she says. “Both locked from the inside.”
“Roof access?” he asks.
“Stand by.” After a few seconds, she says, “Negative. It’s all locked up tight, as far as I can see. Returning to you.”
She slinks across the darkness. Layne notices she’s unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, which reveals a hint of cleavage. An odd choice for mission gear. But, he’s not one to criticize her choice of clothing.
“What is it about this guy?” she asks him when they meet up under the dentist’s awning. She’s panting, out of breath, chest heaving.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. In a town like this, he stands out. Like he’s not a local.”
“You consider yourself to be very familiar with the qualities of West Texas locals?”
He grins. “Familiar enough. You disagree?”
“No, I think you’re right about him. If it leads us to Vixen, I’m all for it. But, I don’t feel great about walking into a potentially hostile scenario with only one way in. I don’t like the bottleneck.”
“I agree. We could wait for him to come back out, but I’d like to know who he’s talking to on the phone and who he’s meeting with inside.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What if it’s just a date?”
“Then it’ll be easy to take him when his clothes are all over the floor of some seedy motel room.”
“Aww, Boy Scout. You’re no fun at all.”
He clears his throat. “Both in the front, or separate? I could wait around the back for you.”
Juliana pushes out her lower lip, and Layne watches the moon reflected in her eyes for a second. “No,” she says, “let’s both go in together.”
“After you.”
She struts across the street, checking the Glock in her waistband before pulling her shirt down over it. Layne follows, one hand hovering near the back of his waist to reach for his pistol, should the need arise. Their ankle holsters are a little too obvious, but Layne insisted they take backup weapons.
They open the front door of Water Tower, a bar almost identical to the last bar they staked out. Jukebox, tiny wooden stage in one corner, a bar with stools, and a few tables. A sea of peanut shells littering the floor.
And, a woman matching Vixen’s description, standing at the bar. Facing away
, but she has the long and black curly hair, as described. Is it her? No way to know based on the back of her head. No way to know from her face, either, since they haven’t been given a solid description.
Layne doesn’t have much time to react to the potential of spotting their target because a punch comes swinging in from his left. The Latino man with the goatee. The punch smacks into Layne’s nose, and all he can think about is how easily they’ve been made in this tiny town. How these people can smell cops or feds a mile away. They were probably identified as soon as they drove the rental car into town. They’ve probably had a tail on them since the beginning. Sloppy.
Layne shoves out his free hand to push the man back. He creates a little room and tries to check the scene out of his peripheral vision. Juliana is racing across the room toward Vixen.
Vixen scrambles toward the rear exit, and a couple men block Jules from reaching her. Their target leaves without exposing her face. The door shuts behind her.
And then, two men jump up from behind the bar, both of them with shotguns. Jules halts in her tracks and throws her hands up, backing toward Layne. He does the same. All at once, the action in the room grinds to a halt.
Despite having an arsenal at the motel room, they’ve only brought pistols with them tonight. Two each. And, the Latino man liberates them of their guns within seconds. He takes their weapons and puts them on a table on the other side of the room. Odd that he didn’t pocket them or toss them in the trash. It’s almost as if he intends to give them back at some point.
Even odder is when people start to slip out the back door. The person who could be Vixen has already left, without a word. Then, a few others. The Latino man nods at the two behind the bar, and he vanishes, too. Soon enough, only Layne, Juliana, and the two shotgun-wielding dudes behind the bar remain.
They all stand there for a full minute, with no one speaking. Plenty of time for Vixen to get far away from this location. It’s interesting that she and her people didn’t simply gun Layne and Juliana down, and be done with it. Maybe they’re too smart to take out feds, but they have to know Layne saw their faces. They have to know Layne won’t walk away after this.
Layne breathes as he studies the two bartenders. Both of them short and stocky, one white and one black. The white guy has visible neck tattoos and the hairiest arms Layne has ever seen. It’s like a forest from the bicep down. The black guy also has an interesting feature: two different colored eyes. And both of them stare down Layne with a serious amount of menace.
“You not going to offer us a drink?” Juliana says.
The white guy shakes his head. “I don’t think I have to tell you you’re not welcome here. We don’t serve your kind at Water Tower.”
“What kind is that?” she asks. “Redheads?”
“Pigs,” says the other bartender.
“We look like cops to you?” Juliana says. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”
While Jules is keeping them distracted with flirty banter, Layne looks for an opening to move. With every passing second, their targets are slipping further and further away. That’s their intention, for sure. Layne thinks about diving forward, with the bar obscuring them. But, those two can easily lean over the counter and shoot both him and Jules in the back. He considers turning and running for the front door, but it’s the same problem. There’s no place good to hide, and their guns are too far away. And, there’s not a good way to signal Jules about the plan.
“You can talk all you want,” the white bartender says. “But you’re not going to move until we say so. I can see your beefy friend here is thinking about how he can cross the distance between us before I can shoot him.”
“No,” Juliana says, scoffing. “No way he’s thinking that.” She casts a mock judgmental eye at Layne. “Were you thinking that?”
“Of course not,” Layne says, hands still raised. “I’m just doing what I’m told.”
A moment later, a walkie talkie sitting on the bar squawks. The two men lower their shotguns and nod toward the door. “You can leave now,” says the white bartender.
Layne backs toward the door, and Juliana comes with him. It’s a slow walk, hands up, ready for anything. Layne’s careful not to stumble over tables and chairs on his way out. A loud noise might cause an inadvertent pull of the trigger.
The bartenders eye them, but they stand stoic and say nothing. Layne pushes his rear against the door to open it, always with eyes on the hostiles. The door slowly swings shut.
Outside, back in the night air, it’s quiet again. A nearby streetlight hums. A crack of thunder comes from somewhere, miles away.
Jules scowls. The air has chilled in the last few minutes. “Damn it.”
“It’s okay,” Layne says. “I’ve got a plan.”
14
Adrenaline still pumping, Layne stood in the parking lot of the Red Rock Inn. Fists clenched. Officer Brendall had gotten in a couple of good punches, but Layne had emerged from the fight relatively unscathed. Physically. But, engaging in a fight with a police officer in a public place had not been the smartest idea. Even though Layne had only defended himself, it wouldn’t matter if Brendall filed a report. He could say whatever he wanted about the incident, and people would believe him.
Layne whipped his head around, looking for witnesses. At this early hour, he saw only a teenaged boy, standing near the open trunk of a car. Kansas plates.
“He threw the first punch,” the kid said, holding a tablet in one hand. “I totally saw him do it.”
Layne nodded at the kid, but his testimony wouldn’t matter too much.
“Thanks, but it’s okay.”
“You sure?” the kid asked.
“I’m sure.”
Something caught Layne’s attention. A car drove along Highway 179. An unmarked blue compact car, with Brendall at the wheel. Layne checked his right pocket for his keys and his left pocket for his tube of nicotine lozenges, then he sprinted for his car. He wasn’t dressed for a chilly desert morning, but the cold didn’t bother him, after a full day to adjust to the dry air.
Layne hopped into his rental and started it up, then led out to 179. The teenaged kid stared at him the whole time. This would be a killer vacation anecdote for him to tell all his friends about back in Kansas.
A minute later, Layne was within five cars of Brendall’s blue car. It had been a while since he’d tailed a vehicle, so he had to remind himself of all the things that used to be second nature. Stay a few cars behind. Keep his eyes on Brendall’s rearview, but be prepared to avert his eyes in case of accidental eye contact. This guy was a cop so he would spot a tail easier than most. But, if he were high, as Layne had suspected, maybe he wouldn’t.
“Let’s see where you’re going,” Layne said to the dashboard. And then, a thought occurred. He pulled out his phone and set it on the center console, then he told his phone’s voice assistant to call Serena Rojas on speakerphone.
A couple of rings later, she answered. “Hi, Layne.”
“Good morning.”
“Is it morning?”
He grinned as he shifted lanes to keep pace with Brendall, now four cars ahead. Any closer and the cop would probably spot him. Layne had to remind himself how out of practice he was at this. Be humble and act like he’d never done this before. Juggling a phone call at the same time made it a bit trickier.
“You still on Germany time?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “I didn’t sleep well over there. And I wasn’t too happy about coming back. The trip always ends just as soon as I get used to local time. But, Daphne brought me up to speed on our missing friends.”
“It’s a messy business. You need to keep a firm eye behind you, at all times.”
“Don’t worry about that. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, Serena. Are you available for the next few days?”
“Well, my week has suddenly freed up. What do you need?”
“I think I know where Harry i
s. The general area, at least. I’m in a town a couple miles south of Sedona, and I wondered if you might come meet me here. I need support and Daphne can’t offer me anything official, for reasons I don’t have to explain to you.”
“Hell yeah,” she said. “I’ll be out on the first flight I can. What are the details? I’d like to get to work as soon as possible.”
“After you get some sleep.”
She paused, then said, “Sure. After I get some sleep. But tell me what I can do until I get there.”
“There was a damaging NSA report stolen from them eight years ago.”
She interrupted him with a grunt but didn’t make any actual comment.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“NSA,” she said, her tone full of disdain.
“I get it. They’re not my favorites either, but they were the agency we were loaned out to in Littlefield. We’re in bed with them for this, whether we like it or not.”
“Understood. You won’t get any problem from me. Do we know anything else?”
“A man using the alias Ronald Gaynor is looking for it.”
“Do we have this report?”
“Negative. According to Daphne, at least. The company line is that she gave it to her boss, he shredded it, and then he died in a car accident a couple years later.”
“No copies?”
“No copies. It was on DocuSeal A2, which prevents copying and photography.”
“I’ve heard of the A2. What can I do right now?”
“Maybe you can look into Daphne’s boss. His name was Avery Weeks, and I have a feeling something is under the surface about the car crash that killed him. Could’ve been a cover-up.”
Serena paused. “Did you know Avery?”
“Not really. Daphne kept us separate from him.”
“And, you think he didn’t actually shred the report?”
“Daphne says he did, and I don’t know why she would lie about that, but I can’t trust her blindly. If there’s a conspiracy around Weeks’ death, this report is at the center of it. There’s a spiderweb here, and we need to pluck the strands.”